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THE SIN SHARED

“THE BARRACKS WERE abuzz that night, and I was treated to a dozen more slaps to my back as we bedded down. We all knew we’d be setting out with the dawn, but still, Theo and Lil Phil had smuggled some vodka from the refectory, and we shared a few more mouthfuls around our cots. Finch raised a bottle in my direction, and even de Séverin managed a smile.

“‘Quick thinking and quicker talking, de León.’ The nobleson nodded. ‘Santé.’

“‘D’ye see Talon’s face?’ Fincher chuckled. ‘I thought he was about to shite blood.’

“Petit grinned. ‘I fancy the Empress liked the cut of our kitten’s coat, though.’

“Aaron lifted the vodka in toast, the scar on his face twisting as he gifted me a rare smile. ‘To the brave, the bounty.’

“I smiled in return. ‘One day as a lion is worth ten thousand as a lamb.’

“We settled abed after a few more sips, and the liquor helped my brothers to their dreams. We were to march on the morrow, and I knew I should be about my sleep too. But there was one more visit I needed to pay before night took me. One more word that needed speaking. If all Greyhand feared was true, this journey could be my last.

“The Library was quiet as I stole inside, wooden troops still arrayed on the great map. My belly fluttered as I saw the parchment Greyhand had left crumpled on the floor.

“I picked it up, smoothed the map out, thinking of the price we’d paid for it. I turned my eyes to the empire beneath my feet; to Avinbourg, to Charinfel, wondering which the Forever King would actually strike. Greyhand might have been right. Laure Voss was ancien, and it did feel that perhaps she’d toyed with us in Coste. But still … something about all of this struck an ill note. Something I couldn’t yet ken.

“I smelled rosewater and rêvre as I stole through the forbidden section, a small smile on my lips. And rounding the shelves, there I found her; sitting with chin in palms, long black hair tumbling about her face. The books before her were unread, the scent of dreamweed heavy in the air. Looking at her eyes, I could see she’d smoked more than usual.

“‘Bonsoir, Majesty,’ I bowed.

“Astrid glanced to me, back to the candleflame. ‘What’s so fucking good about it?’

“I held up the remnants of Theo’s vodka. ‘I come bearing gifts?’

“Astrid looked to me again, lip quirking. ‘You may be seated.’

“The drink from the feast was still quick in my blood, the pain of my new tattoo a faint throb beneath it. I handed Astrid the bottle, watching the candlelight playing upon her throat as she took a long, slow pull. Her eyes were heavy lidded, bloodshot, and she finished half of what was left before passing the bottle back to me.

“‘I suppose you think you’re terribly clever.’

“‘What exactly is terrible about being clever?’ I asked, taking a mouthful.

“‘Tsk. Boys.’ She took the bottle back, shaking her head. ‘Getting Isabella’s attention like that is unwise.’

“‘I didn’t realize I’d got her attention.’

“‘She knew your name. But have a care, Gabriel de León. Our Empress breaks the toys she plays with.’ Astrid drank deep, wincing. ‘I mean, honestly, did you see that sword she was wearing? She’d be lucky to find the pointy end. Showy cunt.’

“‘I didn’t notice. My eyes were elsewhere.’

“She scoffed. ‘Indeed.’

“‘I mean it. I’ve no use for pretty dresses and painted lips. Give me silver and blood. Give me a mind quick as the turning of the sky and sharp as the blade at my side.’

“‘Well, fancy that. A few sips of homebrew piss, and he turns into a poet.’

“‘I don’t think any of that rhymed.’

“‘A terrible poet, then.’ Her smile failed, and she took another mouthful. ‘Apologies. I’m being a bitch again. Although Mama did tell me: In life, always do what you love.’

“‘You’re no bitch, Astrid Rennier.’

“‘All right, now I’m insulted.’

“‘You strike the pose well enough. But if you’re so bitchly, why are you in here every night, looking for the salvation of the empire that abandoned you?’

“‘There’s little else to do in this hole. Save torturing myself with fancies of escaping it.’

“‘You don’t fool me anymore. A blackheart doesn’t make people saintsday gifts, nor arrange swordplay lessons for their friends, nor spend time convincing the abbot to let your sisters learn to protect themselves. There’s pure gold beating beneath your breast.’

“‘Oh Mothermaid, you are enchanted, aren’t you?’

“She met my gaze, and I didn’t look away. I could sense a precipice, and though I knew we both enjoyed this game, I was wary of the edge. I should be abed. I’d need my strength for the ride ahead, perhaps the battle at the end of it. But the liquor was warm in her cheeks, and the thought of leaving her again so soon was a stone in my chest.

“Astrid offered the bottle. ‘Another? Or is the rest for your queen?’

“I shrugged. ‘One more won’t kill me.’

“‘Famous last words, Little Lion.’

“‘I don’t plan on dying tonight, Majesty.’

“‘And what about tomorrow?’

“I looked at her then. Into the haze of those long, shady eyes. She was upset, that much was plain. But I thought she’d smoked herself numb because of Isabella—the sight of the empress who’d exiled her to this prison, the thought of what might’ve been. Astrid Rennier was a royal bastard who but for a quirk of fate might well have been a princess.

“But looking at her now, I saw no self-pity. That wasn’t Astrid’s way. Instead, gazing into the bloodshot dark of her eyes, I saw fear. Not for her. But for me.

“‘I’ve been thinking,’ she declared.

“‘I wondered what that grinding noise was.’

“She scoffed. ‘Prick.’

“‘Bastard.’

“‘Touché. But I like it better when you call me Majesty.’

“I leaned back, laughing. ‘What have you been thinking?’

“Her tone turned serious, the small smile dying at her lips. ‘About your tale of what you did to that fledgling. And what Chloe and I found in that book.’

“My smile died also. Thoughts returning to Skyefall, and the blood of that deadboy boiling at my touch. With the Forever King rushing at us headlong, all the noise and bustle of the last week, it was hard to find time to fret on it. But aside from that strange name—Esani—I still had no true idea what I was. Nor what I could do.

“‘I was thinking,’ Astrid continued. ‘If it’s a bloodgift, then you must train it like any other. And I know you’ve got no one here who can teach you, nor any real idea how to conjure it. But if you wish help to master it … I’ll offer.’

“‘You mean … try to use it on you?’

“‘You need practice if you’ve intent to wield it with any skill.’

“‘I don’t want to hurt you, Astrid.’

“Dark eyes glittered as they met mine. ‘A little pain never hurt anyone.’

“Despite myself, my belly thrilled a touch at those words. I matched her stare, and I could see it, sure as I could see my own reflection in the dark of her pupils.

“Want.

“This was dangerous now. I knew all too well the peril that came when such talk was mixed with smoke and drink. This girl was promised to God, and I was soon to be sworn as his soldier. For all the thrill of our little flirtations, there was no future in this. Nothing to be gained, and everything, everything to be lost.

“But Great Redeemer, she was beautiful. Smoky lashes, framing pools of midnight black. My gaze traced her cheek, down the line of her neck to the secrets beyond.

“I should have told her no.

“She should never have offered in the first place.

“But in truth, that was the allure of it all.

“‘All right, then,’ I said.

“She pushed the bottle and books aside, climbed up onto the table in front of me. I could smell vodka on her lips and dreamweed in the air as she offered her hand. I felt a frisson through her fingertips as we touched. I thought of Skyefall, of the surge of heat running up my arm as I boiled that fledgling’s blood.

“But sitting this close, all thought of bloodgifts and practice melted away. As I’ve said, not even God Himself can come between a girl and a boy truly in want of each other. And looking into Astrid’s eyes, I knew what she wanted. And God help me, I wanted it too.

“‘This is foolish,’ I whispered.

“She wove her fingers through mine, thumb brushing featherlight along my skin.

“‘Let’s call it reckless.’

“I don’t know who moved first. I don’t know who followed. I know only our first kiss was more a collision, a meeting of powder and flame. She sank down into my lap and crushed her mouth to mine, dragging her fingers through my hair. I pulled her closer, hard as I dared, the strength of the dark blood in my veins singing. And the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, alive and warm and wanting in my arms, awoke it inside me—that same hunger I’d known in Ilsa’s bed. I felt that thirst rise like a flame, roaring through me, fangs stirring in my gums, heat in my veins. Wishing became wanting, and wanting became needing, and all of it, all of it was need of her.

“But this was madness. This was wrong. This was against the rule of the monastery and the commands of our betters and even the will of heaven itself.

“‘Astrid,’ I whispered. ‘We cannot do this.’

“‘I know,’ she breathed, kissing me again.

“She reached down between us, and I gasped as I felt her fingertips running up and down me through my leathers. Her kiss deepened, desire bleeding into me, and though we knew this was a sin, somehow that only made us burn the brighter with it. Her mouth was open, her kisses hungry, and I heard her hiss as my fangs scratched her lip and a stab of impossibly bright and burning blood splashed upon my tongue.

“I gasped and tried to pull away, terrified of hurting her. But her hand slipped inside my britches and closed around me, holding me still. She could have steered me with the lightest touch then. She could have killed me with a whisper. She looked me in the eyes and I could see the truth of it, curled at the edge of her bloody smile.

“There’s no sin so dangerous as the sin that is chosen.

“No sin so glorious as the sin that is shared.

“‘How does a man pray, Gabriel?’

“I was breathless, speechless, licking her blood from my lips and shaking my head.

“Astrid took my hands, pressed them to her body. Guiding my touch over the swell of her breasts, down her ribs to the maddening curves of her hips. She licked her bleeding lip, eyes fluttering closed, hips rolling as she swayed against me. Leaning close, she pressed her bleeding mouth to mine, the taste of her almost driving me mad.

“‘How does a man pray?’

“‘I don’t know. I don—’

“‘He prays on his knees, Gabriel.’

“And then she pushed herself back up onto the table, slid her hands over my shoulders, pulling me closer, down. The taste of her blood crashed and burned upon my tongue, and her eyes looked deep into mine as she whispered the words that made me completely and finally fall.

“‘Pray to me.’

“And a part of me was just a sixteen-year-old boy then. Begging only to serve and wanting only to please. But the rest of me, the most of me, was filled with a hunger darker than any I’d ever known. I ran my hands up over her legs, slowly rucking her robes up around her hips, her breath coming quicker as I slipped to my knees. The scent of her crashed upon me, the need of her filled me utterly. And she shivered as she felt the first feather-soft touch of my tongue, her pulse thundering beneath her skin, fingers slipping into my hair as she dragged me in tighter. ‘Please,’ she sighed. ‘Please.’

“I kissed her, adored her—soft, languid, her every sigh and moan an invitation to coax yet another from those lips, louder and longer. She was mine then, not God’s, wholly and solely mine. Honeyed petals beneath my tongue, nothing and no one between us. Looking down into my eyes and shivering harder between every breath, her hips swaying, toes curling as she parted her legs wider, one hand in my hair, the other now finding her breast, stroking and plucking through her holy vestments. I was lost in the taste of her, the thrill of it all, so silken smooth and velvet soft I could barely breathe. I’d never known any sin so sweet as this. Never wanted anything in my life as much as I wanted her.

“‘Touch me,’ she begged, and I obeyed.

“‘Inside me,’ she pleaded, and I almost lost my mind.

“She mewled my name, head thrown back, shaking so hard I could barely hold on. Drowning, begging, God, she was so warm there. Her every soft secret at my fingertips, moaning in time with every burning kiss. She sank back onto the table, books scattering, spine arching as she began to shake, legs rising skyward, eyes rolling back in her head, lips parted as she called my name again, so long and loud I knew for certain we’d be undone …

“And then the bells began ringing.

“Our eyes met over the plane of her heaving belly. Confusion breaking through the swell of hunger, the rush of need. My pulse was hammering, my lips and chin drenched, sweet nectar and hot blood and salty sweat as the tolling rang out over the monastery, echoed through the empty Library.

“‘What’s that?’ she whispered.

“The hour was late, but dawn was nowhere close; this was no mass being called. And helping Astrid up from where she lay, ignoring the thirst that surged ever brighter as I looked to her still-bleeding mouth, I spoke with creeping dread.

“‘Something’s wrong…’”